


At the End of the Line (Maybe a Diamond Ring)

by lepoppeta



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lepoppeta/pseuds/lepoppeta
Summary: (1920/1930's Anthro-AU) It's the evening after Skimbleshanks and Munkustrap's wedding day, and the silver tabby can't sleep.
Relationships: Munkustrap/Skimbleshanks (Cats)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Part 1

Munkustrap flopped backwards onto the quilted throw, one arm slug haphazardly across his eyes. "I don't know about you, but I think I'm through with dealing with my immediate family for at least a fortnight."

Skimbleshanks laughed out loud, a little too loose on champagne and whiskey. "Even little Jemima? I'll tell her you said that. She'll be so hurt."

Munkustrap whined, "No, of course not. She can stay. Tugger and Bomba, however..."

"I can't imagine what they were like at their own wedding."

"Much worse, if that's even believable." Munkustrap slid his arm aways from his face and laid both paws across his chest, twiddling with the brass buttons on his vest. "I think I might have been the only sober one there."

Another laugh erupted from Skimbleshanks' direction. "Poor wee lad," he cooed, shrugging out of his suit jacket and picking at the knot in his tie. "Such a steep price dear Munkustrap has to pay for being sensible." With his tie neatly rolled up and his vest already half unbuttoned, Skimbleshanks nudged the melodramatic Munkustrap with his knee on his way to the bathroom. "Get your suit off, then. I'm tired, and I don't plan on waiting for hours in bed while you undress."

"In a minute..." Munkustrap held his right paw above his face. The golden band on his ring digit glinted warmly in the dim bedroom glow; happiness bloomed deep in Munkustrap's chest, tickling his ribs with its fragrant petals. "I'm... basking."

"Basking?" Skimbleshanks' voice was distant, muffled by the wall between them, but Munkustrap could still distinctly hear his incredulousness.

"It's not every day one gets the honor of marrying the love of their nine lives."

Skimbleshanks, his words still a little faint, mumbled around the bristles of his toothbrush, "Didn't you bask enough at the ceremony?"

"It's not the same when everyone else is there, too." Munkustrap spread his arms wide across the bedspread. "Sure, the ceremony was lovely, and we got to dance..." he nearly lost his train of thought as the fond memories flooded his brain. He shook his head a little, "But, it's only just... occurred to me. I just got married; I have a _husband_."

"What a coincidence!" Munkustrap peered across the room to see Skimbleshanks standing in the doorway to the ensuite, clad in tartan pajamas and smiling from ear to ear. He deposited the pair of neatly folded dress trousers that was slung across his arm onto a stray clothes hanger swinging in the closet, then loomed over Munkustrap, hands clasped behind his back. "I just so happen to have one of my own."

Skimbleshanks' smile was infectious; Munkustrap didn't fight back a warm grin of his own. "Really?" He whispered, "You're a lucky tom. What's he like?"

"Hmm, let me think..." Skimbleshanks perched on the edge of the mattress. He pawed through the thick fur on Munkustrap's cheeks, fiddling with his whiskers. "He's irresistably charming. Handsome to boot." He reached for Munkustrap's hand and brought it to his face, brushing the wedding band over his lips. "He has a voice like Everlasting herself. He is limitlessly kind and headstrong." The ginger tabby pressed a kiss to his new husband's knuckles, "And I love him very much."

Munkustrap's heart thudded against his ribs. "Skimbleshanks..."

"He'll also be labled a lazy-arse if he doesn't get a move on and come to bed in the next ten minutes." Skimbleshanks flung Munkustrap's arm across his chest, abruptly standing and scooting around to his side of the bed.

"I thought we were having a moment!" Munkustrap whined, pushing himself upwards on his elbows.

"And we'll have several more once you've washed up for bed." Skimbleshanks managed a very convincing no-nonsense tone despite still being mildly tipsy. He held aloft his pocket watch, which he always kept on his bedside table at night, next to his reading glasses and brass alarm clock, and swung it teasingly from his claws. " _Tick tock_ , Munkus dear."

Munkustrap groaned playfully, hauling himself off of the quilt. "Spoilsport," he muttered, under his breath.

"I heard that!"

"You were supposed to."

Six minutes later (a new record, as far as Munkustrap was concerned) the pair of newlyweds were sat up neatly in bed, nestled shoulder to shoulder. Skimbleshanks peered thoughtfully at a novel he was halfway through reading, his spectacles perched percariously on the end of his nose. Munkustrap absently read along, his head pillowed in the dip between Skimbleshanks' shoulder and collarbone.

"I thought you said you were tired," Munkustrap yawned, tugging at the collar of his blue plaid pajama shirt.

"You'd be right." Skimbleshanks idly flipped a page. Deciding that whatever came next in the story could wait until tomorrow, he slid a leather bookmark between the pages. With glasses removed and placed neatly atop the now-forgotten novel, he slid down deeper under the covers, ignoring Munkustrap's disgruntled yelp as he was dragged along with him until they were face-to-face.

"I love you so much, my dearest friend," Skimbleshanks murmured, brushing his palm against Munkustrap's jaw.

" _I am one who loved not wisely, but too well_." The silver tom nuzzled into the touch, sighing deeply in a way that only those who are truly content can.

Skimbleshanks leaned back, catching the chain on his bedside lamp and flooding the little room in warm darkness. Munkustrap heard his head nestle back into his pillow, felt the breaths on his face gradually slow and fall to slumber. He rolled onto his back and stared blankly up at the ceiling, waiting for his own breathing to join the cadence of his husband's.

It never did.


	2. Part 2

Skimbleshanks was rudely awakened a few hours later by the sharp glow of the bedside lamp opposite to his. He grunted, ears twitching at the sound of rustling bed covers.

"Munkustrap?" His voice was raspy; thick with sleep.

"Sorry, didn't mean... well, I would have eventually." Munkustrap sounded unusually chipper for... _what time was it, anyway?_

Skimbleshanks rubbed at his eyes, biting back an enormous yawn. "What... what are you doing?"

"Packing."

"Mm... what?" The ginger tom had to take a second to process the word. He blinked blearily at the flurry of blue and silver shapes currently yanking open the closet door. "Packing?"

"That's right. We're going to catch a train."

 _Oh Bhast, he must have had more champagne than I thought. Or_ I _had more champagne than I thought._

"My love, it's..." Skimbleshanks clumsily stretched his arm over his head, patting about his bedside table for his alarm clock. He held it aloft and squinted at its face in the dim light, "... it's three in the morning."

Munkustrap stood in front of the closet, hand on hips. A cat on a mission. In one swift motion he snatched a large leather suitcase from its corner and hauled it onto the bed, popping the lid open with a startling sense of finality. "So what?"

"So... what?" Skimbleshanks parroted dumbly. _I'm missing something here, I just know it. Something really important._ Was marriage all it took for one to start going senile? The space between his eyes throbbed a little, and he squinted hard against the light and the sudden rush of pain.

"There are night trains." Munkustrap strode purposefully across the tiny room. He stuck his hand inside the top drawer of their shared dresser and yanked out a great fistful of socks. He chucked them in the open suitcase without a trace of his usual care. "You work one."

"Yes, but-"

"Where's your pocket schedule?" Munkustrap's voice was muffled from inside the closet as he sifted through the collection of pressed collared shirts.

Skimbleshanks gestured vaguely to the pair of navy work slacks draped neatly across the back of a nearby armchair, "In... in my trousers-"

"Pin it on the wall." Munkustrap wrapped a burgundy tie around his knuckles before burying that in the growing pile of clothes as well, "We'll throw a dart at it, or a pencil. Something sharp. Anything. Whatever it lands on, that's the train we'll take."

Skimbleshanks sat up a little straighter in bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Munkustrap, I don't understand. What... what's all this _for_?"

Munkustrap peered over the lid of the suitcase, his brow quirked to one side. _Really? You don't know?_ "It's for our honeymoon, of course," he said, diving back into the task at hand.

"Honeym-" Skimbleshanks swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and nearly landed on his knees, such was his shock. "Darling, I thought we would... we haven't even... aren't you going to _plan_ any of this?" He swished his tail uneasily.

Munkustrap promptly slammed the suitcase shut, ignoring the jingling of the twin locks. His paws were planted firmly on the lid as he leaned forwards, neck stretched out like an irate goose. His eyes sparkled in the light of his bedside lamp.

"I didn't!" He crowed triumphantly, "This is just as much of a surprise for me as it is for you!"

Skimbleshanks balked at him. "Then... what on earth-"

"I don't know!" There was bright laughter in Munkustrap's voice; he looked beyond ecstatic with himself. "I couldn't sleep, and I was thinking about the wedding, and what we were going to do after..." He trailed off, trying to collect his frantic thoughts. "And I thought, yes, we absolutely could plan something. A week in Cornwall, a fortnight in Sandringham. It would be perfect. It would be everything we ever dreamed of."

"But that's the thing!" The silver tabby grinned broadly from across the room, "What if, and that's the crazy part... what if _nothing_ was planned? My entire _existence_ was never planned. I never planned on losing my mother. I never planned on meeting you, or falling in love with you, or _marrying_ you... why should this be any different?" Munkustrap lowered himself to his elbows, gazing up at Skimbleshanks with the giddyness of a small child. "Skimble, we could go _anywhere_. We could... hop on the back of a caboose, sneak into the boxcars, for all I care. I just want to go with _you_."

Skimbleshanks felt his jaw go slack. _I have never been more in love with anyone in my entire life._

"I know this all sounds insane-"

"You're absolutely right." Skimbleshanks skirted 'round the bed, closing the distance between them and snatching Munkustrap's paws in his own, "This is truly, ruddy insane, and completely out of character, and I've never been more inclined to agree with you on anything. Ever."

"... really?" For the first time during his giddy monologue, Munkustrap actually looked apprehensive. "You aren't just saying that to pacify me, are you?"

Skimbleshank rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and asked Everlasting for a little more patience. "No, I'm doing this because _I love you,_ you impossible creature."

They stood like that for a little while, Skimbleshanks clutching at Munkustrap's wrists and Munkustrap staring at his husband like he raised the moon each night.

"We'll have to tell someone," Munkustrap whispered, a little breathless.

Skimbleshanks shrugged lightly. "Tugger doesn't live far. We can slip a note through their mailbox, no problem."

"Gus will wonder-"

"Gus will understand."

"... but-"

"Everlasting Cat, Munkus, don't talk yourself out of this!" Skimbleshanks made a noise that was half a growl, half a bark of laughter. "You woke me up at three in the morning, and if you tell me that this was all a bad idea and that we should go back to sleep then you're sleeping on the settee for the next week!"

That seemed to snap Munkustrap out of his doubtfulness; his stormy blue eyes widened joyfully, and Skimbleshanks' cry of surprise was muffled against his husband's lips as he was kissed soundly.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Skimbleshanks replied gruffly. "Now, get out the other suitcase. There's no telling where we'll be going at this rate, or how long our clothes will last us. Throwing pencils at a train timetable, _honestly_..."

It was all in good humor, of course. Skimbleshanks set to work re-folding the shirts that Munkustrap had so haphazardly thrown into the suitcase already on the bed while the silver tabby lugged out a second. Any lingering concern that Skimbleshanks might have had melted away the instant Munkustrap flashed him a bright, dizzy smile, and he silently figured that if marrying his dearest companion meant the occasional break in schedule, then he supposed he could get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this was a movie, this scene would be immediately followed by a shot of Munkustrap and Skimbleshanks standing side by side, shivering in Euston Station as they wait for the train they chose (they didn't, in fact, throw a sharp pencil at Skimble's pocket timetable, but instead did that thing where you close your eyes and wave a finger around and then go with whatever option it happens to land on). Munkus is grousing about how insane this all is, and how Skimble shouldn't be condoning this, while Skimble nods sagely and says that he knows.
> 
> This Universe is kind-of sort-of shared by me and Pseudonym677 on Fanfiction.net. Check out their profile for additional works centered around the aesthetic of 1920/30's Cat-London. I highly recommend "Tea in the Greenroom"!


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